The Space-Time Enigma
by Wholockforeternity777
Summary: There is pain and there is wonder in being torn away from everything you have ever worked for, and having to start again. Meg discovers this first hand, as she is forced from the life she has built herself, and plunged into a universe that she wants nothing to do with. No romance.
1. Storytelling

**A.N: Hello wholockiverse! I am planning on updating this once a week (I've got three chapters so far), but when summer ends, that may change.**

 **Enjoy!**

The Doctor always wondered what it would feel like if he went too far. What it would be like if something pushed him over the edge and turned him into an insane madman that thought the universe and all of its laws were his to bend however he wanted. He wondered, with a tad bit of fear and worry, what it would be like if he became the very thing he detested.

Now he knew. And oh, by Rassilon's throne he wished he had been left ignorant. The memory burned like someone had plunged him in oil and lit him on fire. The memory was his purgatory, his eternal punishment. This was something he would have to live with for the rest of his lives. Not that they would be long. His song was ending.

He wondered if it was time. He had become a monster. There was nothing left for him to live for. How easy it would be to give up. To let his song end. Yet some part of him rebelled. Some part of him thought he should continue fighting. Even now, it was plotting and scheming and imagining what-if scenarios and cleverly escaping whatever the universe threw at him, like he always did.

The Doctor hated the part of him that wouldn't stop trying to escape the inevitable. Even as a battle raged within him, the knowledge of what he had done and the knowledge that his song was ending warring with the instinct to survive, his mind was searching for an escape from his inescapable fate.

The patter of footsteps jarred the Doctor out of his thoughts. He shifted slightly, the cold concrete under him making him sore.

A human girl peered over the edge of the cement, giving the Doctor a look of confusion as she stepped onto the roof of the flat building.

"Oh hello." The Doctor jumped up as he spoke the words. "I'm sorry if I bothered you. I'll leave now. I was just… Resting."

The girl scanned him with a wary eye before responding. "You're fine. I just come up here to write. Don't let me bother you."

He cautiously sat down again, ready to leave the moment his fidgeting became overbearing. "Alright."

The human, a young woman about twenty with thin, long brown hair and light skin, pulled a laptop out of the backpack she was carrying. She sat down on the edge of the roof, feet dangling over the edge. The screen illuminated her face in the near darkness, as the only other source of light was the descending moon and rising sun. She began typing, pausing every few moments.  
Now that there was somebody else there, he found himself unable to return to his brooding. He ended up going through his pockets, looking for entertainment.

His screwdriver, a bunch of bananas, an odd assortment of wires, the TARDIS manual. He made a face at the bigger on the inside, three hundred thousand page, boring as can be book that he _had_ thrown into a supernova. Boring, boring boring. There was absolutely nothing to do.  
The Doctor sighed. Bored. He should just leave.

"Hey, you any good at reading and editing writing?" She was looking at him expectantly. He jumped up.

"Well, I wouldn't consider myself an expert, but I do have a lot of experience in editing."

Her voice had an amused tone when she responded. "There's a reason experience and expert are derived from the same word. They tend to come hand in hand."

The Doctor wasn't sure what to say to that. "Ah."

"I'm Meg. Just tell me what you think about the manuscript and if you would watch it as a television show."

"Right. Okay."

Meg passed him the laptop.

The story was titled "Sherlock." The Doctor frowned. There was something familiar about that name.

"I've been working at this for years now. I really want to become a screenwriter, but it's a really tough profession, almost impossible to be successful."

Her British accent slipped a bit, hinting at… American? Meg, American, Sherlock. Why did that seem so familiar?

"I'm sure it will be brilliant," he assured the human next to him.  
The Doctor glanced at the next words. Once again, something was familiar about the title, he just wasn't sure what.

"A Study in Pink. Sounds exciting," he mused.

The script was an unedited, rough draft about a detective and his companion, narrating the meeting of the two, then plunging them into a murder mystery. It was well written, with well-rounded characters and a strong plot. It had humour and plenty of bantering. The story was enjoyable, though it still needing a bit of finer editing. The Doctor glanced back at Meg, who was fidgeting with her hair.

"This is really good." 

His voice was serious and honest. Meg glanced at him suspiciously.

"You're not saying that just to be nice, I hope. Lying isn't good for people."

"No, this is good. Very good. You humans can be smart when you want to." 

Meg glanced at the strange guy. Funny sense of humour. She could roll with that.

"Some of us humans are absolutely brilliant compared to you aliens. But the aliens I've had encounters with were absolutely dimwitted, so you may need to clarify the supposed compliment."

The Doctor's eyebrows rose.

"Oh? And how many aliens have you encountered?"

"More than you ever will. You'd scare them all off with your unusual… style."

The Doctor pouted. "This is all the fashion on Torboca Two, you know."

"Mhm. Because nothing says fashion more than pinstriped suit and Converse."

"Yes. Nothing. It's a functional outfit, good for running and it's stylish. Just wait until the twenty-third century. Pinstripes are all the rage and-"

He stopped rambling when Meg gave him another smirk. She picked up her laptop.

"Hmm. The overcoat though. Maybe Sherlock could wear a long cape-like coat so when he runs it fans out behind him. The cape did wonders for Superman. But it wouldn't be brown. It would be black. And would have a cool sticky-up collar. Assuming I can find an actor that looks good in long overcoat. And assuming this script somehow gets accepted as a television show."

Meg leaned over her laptop and began typing. "It's a cool idea, though. Thank you."

Black overcoat. Why did this seem so familiar to the Doctor? He knew he had heard of it before, and judging by the quality of the script, the script became a TV show, but what was so special about this one? It was significant to Earth history, but why?

The Doctor would eventually remember. When he did, the information would no longer be of use. Nasty, dusty Time Lord memory.

"Do you have any other scripts? I would love to read them."

Meg thought for a moment before responding. When she did, her voice was cautious.

"I do, but it's mostly musings. It doesn't fit in the actual series. Maybe sometime, but it has more of a science fiction element to it. It's also a first copy, which means it isn't edited."

"I would love to read it anyways." 

Meg pulled up a new document, this one going by the title "New Reality."

"It's just ramblings, really. But it's how I get ideas for the actual story."

"No, no. I love ramblings. I am the king of rambling. In fact, a Zormph once gave me a title which means the equivalent in their language, but a slightly different variation…" He trailed off when he realized he was rambling again. "Sorry."

She just snorted.

"I wish I had your imagination."

The laptop was once again passed over to the Doctor. He began to read.

London was just beginning to wake up when Tori arrived in a flash of light that rivaled the brilliance of the sun. It was sudden and unexpected, for both her and her new surroundings. The street in which she had landed was famous, both in her home and her new one. The address on the sign towering above her damaged head read in plain white letters "221B Baker Street". Only time would tell if had been luck or great misfortune that she landed in front of the home of the best detective to have ever roamed the streets of the famous city.

Even in the early hours, the city was busy. Taxis drove along the worn pavement. Rumbling trucks rattled the buildings and unleashed puffs of smog into the polluted air. It was impossible for Tori's stunning arrival to go unnoticed. As she fell from the sky, brakes screeched and a loud orchestra of car horns announced her. When she landed on the pavement with a _crack_ , smart phones were already out, fingers tapping out the emergency number, alerting the authorities and ambulances. The extra surveillance cameras monitoring 221B Baker Street didn't miss Tori's arrival either. Baffled employees monitoring the street of the most dangerous man in London hurriedly alerted their boss, who happened to occupy a minor position in the British Government. And the most dangerous man in the wide variety of people alerted to Tori's unexpected arrival, dangerous because he would stop at nothing to figure out who she was and where she had come from, found his new case.

Sherlock was jolted from his thoughts when he heard what sounded like an accident outside his window. He got off the faded couch and went to the window of his dimly lit flat. What he saw immediately piqued his curiosity. Sherlock wasted no time leaving his flat and entering the small crowd of people gathered around the unconscious girl in the middle of the street.

Usually, Sherlock would never leave his flat for something as boring as a stupid, average person getting hit. Serial killers were more his thing. Yet Sherlock could see from here the strange custom clothing the unconscious figure wore, styled as ordinary modern clothes, but with a fabric he had never seen in his life. He could see the shocked expressions on the civilians faces, as well as the fear, something you never saw when someone had been hit by a car. They were in London, for goodness sake. People got hit by cars all the time. The fear indicated something different, something special.

People gave him a wide berth as he strolled through the crowd, many recognising the famous Sherlock Holmes from the news. His commanding and icy demeanor radiated off of him in waves. Even if they didn't recognise him, a subconscious instinct told the ordinary people to back off.

Sherlock could hear the whispers and mutters of shocked pedestrians, all about the girl. What he heard made him even more curious.

"How did she do that?"

"Some trick for media attention, probably."

"But she just appeared in thin air and fell from the sky!"

Sherlock glanced at the person who had said the last phrase. The man's face was ashen, hands trembling by his side. Whatever he had seen had provoked a terrified reaction.

Sherlock heard John's voice.

"Out of my way! Sherlock, will you tell these idiots to move?"

Already, Sherlock could hear the sirens drawing closer to the scenes. A car was navigating it's way through the chaos. It pulled to a stop and his older brother stepped out. Ooh, Mycroft doing _legwork_. This was turning out to be a very interesting day. If his brother was here, than the evidence wouldn't be for much longer. He wouldn't have long to deduce. Sherlock ignored the noise behind him and focused on the center of the chaos.

It was a thirty-something female with dirty blond hair pulled back into what was now an extremely messy ponytail. Her forehead was littered with stress lines. She wore, as observed from the street, clothes that were not anything he'd seen, which implied custom made. Her backpack, which had landed next to her, had several airplane tags hooked to the handle, all with a date close to the current month. Three quality notebooks spilled out of the bag. Sherlock glanced at them. They were well worn, and used often. There was no ring on her finger. She had written, however, a note on her palm, in a quick, hurried handwriting. "Remember to make edible food for trip to..." The rest had smudged off in a smear of blue ink. Her fingernails were healthy, as was her hair, which was washed with a high-quality shampoo. Her left arm had a pale, jagged, white scar along the back, the only notable, past injury on her body.

Words came to him as he studied her. _Rich, picky eater, traveler, writer, single, high-stress job._ Writing had been the least obvious, though he assumed investigating her book bag would make it more so. The worn fingerprints, traces of ink on fingers, three notebooks, and handwriting all suggested writing for a living, but Sherlock was uncertain.

Sherlock picked up the backpack lying near her side. He pulled out a wallet, a phone, and a laptop, as well as a granola bar and a plastic water bottle. He analysed the wrapping on both food items closely, a puzzled frown on his face. He had never heard of either of the companies named on the packaging.

Unwrapping the snack bar, Sherlock examined it with a close eye. The label read 'Nature's Peanut Butter Chocolate Trail Mix Bar'.The compressed bar was composed of several different wheat products, cane sugar, chocolate, dried cranberries, and an assortment of nuts. It was slightly squashed, pushed at the bottom of the bag. It may have been there for a while. He took an experimental bite, then retched and swallowed it with a strangled breath. That was… Sugary. Why was it so sweet? He hurriedly put the snack bar down and moved on to examine the electronics.

The smartphone looked normal. He turned it on. There was no passcode. The lock screen picture was a picture of the woman in front of Big Ben. Nothing abnormal about that, though it did indicate she had at least visited London, as the picture was taken on a phone. He unlocked the phone. What he saw changed the rating of the possible case to a ten.

The background picture was a picture of the woman, John, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and him standing in front of the Tower of London, arms around each other and smiles on their faces. This confused Sherlock to no end. Why would he be smiling? Was this picture a photoshop? No, unlikely. Photoshopped pictures had a distortion around the edge. Was this some technology the world hadn't seen yet? Also unlikely, though more than possible when considering her rich appearance.

Why would she have a picture of the five of them standing in front of a national landmark, dressed in casual clothing? Who was she? Sherlock had most certainly never met her. Did she want something from Mycroft, like Irene? All of the reasons Sherlock came up with were ridiculous and far-fetched. Did it have to do with Moriarty? Had he somehow survived? Or was this a new enemy, someone doing this to once again threaten him. It made no sense.

He examined the picture again. What he saw confused him even more.

It was most certainly the Tower of London. The architecture was exactly as Sherlock remembered it. But there was something different. Something only a brilliant mind like Sherlock's could have picked up. The bricks were darker. The windows were taller. Little things. Things that didn't make sense. Once again, it could've been an unknown technology. That was becoming more and more likely.

Sherlock couldn't question this right now. He had too little time before this case would be yanked out of his hands. Even now, he could hear the voices of Mycroft and John, shouting at him. Sherlock absentmindedly told them to shut up, then got back to work. He filed the picture in his mind palace to examine later. Next came the laptop.

The laptop did have a passcode. It was a long one, with twenty two spots for symbols. Sherlock glanced at the woman again, then at the keyboard on the laptop. The keys were worn, some beyond recognition. She used this laptop a lot, yet this model had been released only two months ago. Like Irene Adler, this device was her life. Anybody that spent that much time using an electronic would protect it with everything. If Sherlock wanted to find out more information, he would have to unlock the laptop.

 _Smack._ Sherlock felt the sting of flesh against flesh. He rubbed his face, growling, then looked up from the scene with an annoyed glance.

"What?"

The look on Mycroft's face was serious, more serious than it had been in a long time.

"Brother, give me the laptop."

"I thought you didn't do legwork," Sherlock snapped. He moved the laptop away from his brother's hands.

Mycroft gestured to the two people that had appeared behind him.

"Take her into the car. Be careful, I don't want her dead. Bring her to the hospital." He turned back to his younger brother.

"Sherlock, give me the laptop and phone."

Sherlock glared in response.

"No."

His brother released an irritated sigh.

"I am missing a meeting with the prime minister currently. Do not make me _order_ you."

Sherlock glowered, but didn't respond. He complied.

The ambulance arrived, squealing to a stop, lights flashing and sirens wailing. A wave of a badge from Mycroft and the two paramedics from the vehicle backed away and drove off, with a few wide-eyed "yes sirs" and hasty salutes. Mycroft and Sherlock watched the centre of all the chaos get loaded into the back of the white van parked near the scene.

"This is a government matter. I want all civilians and pedestrians to please leave immediately." One of Mycroft's underlings shouted the commanding phrase into a megaphone.

The nervous crowds dispersed, watching the scene even as they backed away. Sherlock continued to study the mysterious human, even as the unconscious stranger was loaded into the van. Two men with gloves picked up her laptop and backpack and brought them to Mycroft. He looked over them with a careful eye, then said something to the two men. They went towards Mycroft's car. Mycroft, however, approached Sherlock.

"Brother." His voice was hesitant. Sherlock did not respond. "You are not to investigate this case."

"And whyever not?" Sherlock snapped, his tone irritated.

"It's not your area."

"You have no authority over me, Mycroft. You might as well stop right now." Sherlock looked his brother in the eye, his teeth clenched. Mycroft remained calm, but his eyes were narrowed and his voice clipped.

"Brother, this case is like that of Baskerville, but infinitely more complicated. I will not endanger your sanity for the sake of your selfish entertainment."

"I will do as I please, Mycroft. Go find some other _goldfish_ to bother."

Sherlock stalked off, his mood dark and his resolve firm. He would find out exactly why his brother wanted him to have nothing to do with the accident and who the mysterious girl was.

Mycroft watched him go. He sighed deeply, then beckoned to one person from his group.

"Get my brother's and his flatmate's laptop and phones before he does. I want his security and monitoring upgraded to maximum level. If he tries to intervene with the appearance of the stranger, stop him.

Mycroft left in his car, preparing to interrogate their unexpected guest 

The Doctor glanced up at Meg. Her eyes were focused on the screen, presumably reading along with him. She finished a moment later. He handed her the laptop.

"That was good. You should add this in your TV show." His voice was serious and honest.

Meg shrugged.

"The level of writing, whether it's good or not, doesn't really matter. It's mostly luck. You meet someone that works for a big company and they like your writing, then you can consider yourself hired. But I couldn't publish this. It doesn't match the tone of the series. This was just for fun."

"It's good."

Another shrug. "Sure."

"Oh, c'mon. You don't believe me? I've seen a lot of different writings, with all my traveling."

Meg sat up.

"You travel?"

It was obviously an attempt to distract him from commending her writing. But she did seem to be honestly curious, so the Doctor went along with it.

"All the time."

"What was your favourite location?" 

The Doctor replied with a question of his own.

"Are you interested in travel?"

She laughed. "Oh yeah. Travel is definitely an interest." Meg asked her question again. "So what was your favourite place?"

"Ummm."

Oh, that was hard. His favourite place. Out of all and time and space? That would take some thought. No, better not to mention the whole alien thing. On Earth, in the twenty first century? He wasn't sure.

"I don't know. I've never really thought about it before."

She sighed. "Fine. But you owe me a story."

"A story?"

"Yeah. Something interesting. I just let you read two stories. You've got to have one of your own."

"Nah. Nothing too interesting."

Meg was persistent. "Fine," she said. "Not interesting. Why not the first thing that crosses your mind?" 

The Doctor immediately thought of something, but it wasn't something he wanted to think about. The disastrous moment on Mars was something he wanted to run away from. Running was what he did. Mars was in the past. He was a time traveler. He could jump straight to the future.

Hmm. That wasn't such a bad idea. The Doctor could visit Earth in the twenty fifth century, maybe become the president of the Alaska Republic. Or he could visit Ploom. A lovely planet, especially when the sun lined up with the four moons. It was time to leave. He had finished sulking. It was never good to dwell on things for long. Even now, that instinct in his gut was pulling him, calling him to leave. 

"No. I've got no stories worth sharing."

Meg groaned, disappointed. She had wanted to hear a story. They were good inspiration, the best. This man had seemed likely to have plenty of interesting ones.

"But I've got a mystery."

This brought the grin back to Meg's face. A mystery. Possibly even better. "What kind of mystery?"

The Doctor inwardly smiled. Her tone was curious, her eyes inquisitive. This would be more than satisfactory payment for Meg's two tales.

"Watch." The Doctor sprung up. He ran down the stairs, Chucks landing with loud thuds against the metal, trench coat fanning out behind him. He grinned. Nothing better than running.

"Where are we going?" Meg was not far behind him, her voice breathless.

"Downstairs." The Doctor didn't bother explaining. It was a mystery, after all.

He had parked the TARDIS against the tall building, along the side. He reached the bottom of the staircase, Meg arriving only seconds later.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you a story." With that, the Doctor pulled out the TARDIS key. He unlocked the door, waved at a confused Meg, and disappeared inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Where did this box come from? Did you bring it here?" Her voice was muffled and distant.

"Just watch." The Doctor turned on the screen. The TARDIS had a camera pointed directly at Meg's face. He loved this part. The Doctor started the dematerialisation sequence. The time machine began to whir and groan. Meg's confused and cautious face became one of wonder and delight. A big smile began to grow, as she watched the blue box slowly fade out of existence.

For just one moment, the Doctor wished he could bring her along. The disbelief and fascination in her eyes would only multiply tenfold if she could see what the rest of the universe had to offer. The Doctor imagined taking her to the Phoenix Cluster, or the Saidron Marketplace. For just one moment, the Doctor wanted a companion again.

The feeling was quickly stamped out by the consuming grief and guilt at what he'd done to all of the innocent human beings he'd brought with him. All of them destroyed, all of them gone. After Donna, the Doctor had sworn never to bring along a companion again.

He sent the Tardis into the Time Vortex, taking one last glance at Meg's face, before switching the screen off.

Meg watched the blue box dematerialise with disbelief. The wind whipped at her hair, blowing the loose strands around her face. She shivered, though from the wind, or the excitement of the strange man's "mystery", she wasn't sure.

She stood there for a few more minutes, with a strange longing, wishing he would come back and explain.

 _A mystery indeed_.

He had left her with a puzzling enigma, one she doubted she would ever figure out. Her mind was whirling with the possibilities. Was he an alien, or with the government? Some supernatural force? She would never know.

 _Oh. He gave me a story._

Her earlier grin began to return. Clever. It was his payment for sharing the stories with him. Her mind was racing, coming up with all sorts of plots and ideas, thanks to the strange man with the blue box. Not only that, but he had let her in on a secret. There was more to the world. The fiction was reality.

Meg slowly walked back up to the roof, a distant smile on her face. She had a mystery. It was one she was going to solve.


	2. Interview

**A/N: Okay people, here is your single, extremely lengthy, very important Author's Note.**

 **First, a thousand thanks to my beta, Forever the Optimist. She trudged through the absolute mess that was this fanfiction, and made it a thousand times better. Seriously, if you guys actually like any of this, give her the credit. The first draft would have just scarred you for life.**

 **If you're interested, Forever the Optimist has several stories up, including the Doctor Who, 'Mystery Girl' series, a wholock going by the name of Elysium, and something on her profile called 'Fanfiction for Dummies', as well as a whole bucket load of other stuff. I would go check that out:)**

 **Second, Arthur Conan Doyle never existed. I have my reasons.**

 **Third, asks that we do not put actual people in our stories, such as actors and writers. The briefly mentioned characters Ben and Matthew represent Benedict and Martin. Since I have never met them and can't do their personalities justice, I just stole their faces.**

 **That last line sounded better in my head.**

 **Okay, all done. This will be the only A/N that is more than a few sentences. Enjoy!**

"Next up, we have screenwriter, creator, and director of Sherlock, Meghan Carter!"

Meg smiled and waved at the crowd, as she stepped out onto the stage, taking a seat in the overstuffed orange chair, doing her best not to squint in the sudden harsh light. Enthusiastic applause emanated from the sea of heads and faces in front of her. The amount of people here was amazing, considering where she had come from.

Her seat was tilted slightly in the direction of the audience, and slightly towards her interviewer, the famous Nathan Nathaniel.

Nathan, a popular television show talk host, as well as her interviewer, had a face Meg was well acquainted with. Not only had she seen it on television, but at times, right in front of her.

A lot can change in eleven years. Ever since she had met the strange man with the blue box, events and consequences had entirely renovated her, making her an entirely different person. Meg suspected most of the change happened when she met him. He had given her a curiosity, and a sense of wonder she'd never felt before. After that, it had taken very little time for the curiosity to turn into determination. Then it was just one thing after another. It had taken a lot of hard work to get to where she was now. There had been many hardships, and almost failures. But she had found herself, at the end, with more than an existence. She'd found herself with a life.

"So Meg."

Nate spoke casually, as if they were in the supermarket, instead of on a stage, in front of thousands.

"What do you think so far of the British Television Con, being Sherlock's first year with the panel?"

Meg grinned.

"It's absolutely wonderful. There are so many people, such a variety of faces, all here because they love our work. Everyone is nice. I've had some wonderful conversations with those who watch the show, as well as conversations with a few actors and writers dropping in to say hi. It's weird, really, seeing the response to Sherlock, and all of this."

She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the crowd.

"When I was writing the first season, I would try to imagine what would happen should Sherlock be successful. I could never have imagined this."

Never, in Meg's wildest dreams, had her little stubborn headed, optimistic self, eleven years ago, thought up a fantasy equal to what her life was now. Eleven years ago, Meg would have thought her future self delirious to try to explain it. All of Meg's impossible dreams had come true. She was a successful screenwriter, had friends and a family. So much had changed since the day she had met the alien Meg had come to know as the Doctor.

"I'm sure it's quite strange at times, watching people act out your script."

She laughed. "It really is. I sometimes wonder if anyone actually wants to do it, or if they're just doing it because they want to be nice."

"I think you don't have to wonder about that anymore. Earlier, I asked Ben and Matthew what it was like to work with you on set."

Meg covered her eyes with her hands.

"What did they say?"

"They said, with quite a bit of honesty, may I add, that you were absolutely wonderful, easy to work with, and very funny at times."

Meg looked taken aback.

Honestly, that was quite unbelievable. Eleven years ago, when Meg first met the Doctor, anybody that would've worked with her would have found her the most disagreeable person to be around. She remembered, with a lot of cringing, how easily she would get into arguments over almost anything she disagreed with another person on. She had to have her way, and usually expected everyone else to listen. It had taken many years, the gain of some new friends, and lots of extraterrestrial experiences to overcome it.

It took barely half a day for her overwhelming curiosity to take control of her. She'd spent the next six months furtively searching for the man with the blue box, or, as she later learned, the Doctor. She'd had no luck until she found something unimaginable. Rather, _someone_ unimaginable. That person's personality was good influence. Slowly, but steadily, Meg found her bad qualities being decreased, due to the man's rather bossy personality, and at times, no nonsense demeanor.

"Me? No way. They were probably talking about themselves."

Nate chuckled along with the crowd at the very British statement. A compliment within an insult, with a bit more insult tacked on the end.

"They certainly didn't sound that way. What is it like for you, working with some of the U.K's best film creators?"

"It's weird, really. Reading through articles online all about this person, and thinking, 'yesterday we were eating the same food, at the same table, discussing what to improve on the show.' But everybody is absolutely marvelous, Ben and Matt included. I've gotten to know quite a few people."

Meg had. She was good friends with some of Britain's finest, not only in film and television production, but in extraterrestrial businesses as well.

 _It had started with a Google search. Meg had found very little information concerning the strange man with the blue box. One word from all of her research stuck out: Torchwood._

 _There was a news article, about some incident a few years back. It had mentioned the strange appearance of a man with a blue box, accompanied by an organisation called Torchwood, located in Cardiff._

 _She asked around, trying to find more information. She found nothing. She was disappointed, but had expected it. The news article was fifteen years old._

 _It all changed when a strange man came to visit..._

"Ben and Matt also spoke about your ability to write. Where do you get the ideas for your stories?"

Meg answered this one easily.

"Everywhere, constantly. You just look at something and ask, 'What if?' What if there was a character even smarter than the genius at your work, and this character was rude, with sociopathic tendencies? What if that man was actually a serial killer, and his next murder was to be committed with a scarf?"

Actually, quite a bit of the good parts of Sherlock came from her part time job, an inspiration for any of the adrenalin fueled scenes.

 _They say curiosity killed the cat. It wasn't far from the truth. Her curiosity had almost killed her several times. A mourning and grief stricken Captain Jack Harkness had come to her house after hearing about her attempts to find Torchwood, too angry and tired with his life to do more than point a gun at her and threaten hers. It had been a close call. She'd managed to convince him she was just curious. He'd put the gun away. Many small, tiny things had happened, ending up with the two becoming friends. Later on, she'd questioned him about Torchwood, bringing his overwhelming grief to the surface. After a very precarious discussion that was almost violent, she'd convinced him the deaths of his team were not his fault. Once again, it was only a series of little events that convinced him to reopen Torchwood._

"When did you first get your idea for Sherlock?"

Meg stared into the distance.

"I don't really remember. It just happened, slowly, but with little ideas, here and there. It really took off about three years later. I wanted to send in the script, but I didn't believe it would succeed. I changed my mind, sent it in, and I had a television show."

 _It had been on her mind for a while now. Jack had eventually explained who the Doctor was, and since then, their conversation was the only thing she could think about._

" _This is really good. You should send it in." The Doctor had sounded sincere and honest. Eventually, she did._

 _When she received the confirmation, it was almost impossible to believe. She had a television show. Then she realised. Meg had no idea how to tell Jack._

 _After a year, Torchwood had gained two new employees and lots of alien tasks to deal with, mostly from Jack's constant, and frankly annoying, flirting. Meg wasn't sure how to tell Jack she now had a television show and would no longer be able to work full time there. She approached him cautiously, stammering._

" _Hey, um… Jack?"_

" _You want to start working only part time because of your television show."_

 _She'd blinked, surprised._

" _Actually, yes. How did you… nevermind. Ummm… will you be okay?"_

 _Jack had reluctantly said yes. It had taken a while for him to realise how incredibly useful it was to have access to Meg's resources as a mainstream television screenwriter. Eventually, he had warmed up to the idea. Now she saw Jack very little. Meg was only called in for the occasional loose alien, when the steadily increasing rift activity became too much for the Torchwood members to handle._

"I'm glad you did. The BBC wouldn't be the same without Sherlock." There were murmured agreements from the crowd. Meg wondered how the world would be different if the television show really did not exist. Television shows like that can affect so many people's lives, people using the main characters as examples and role models.

Nate asked his next question. "What is your funniest memory from set?"

Meg instantly smiled.

"There was this time we were all taking a break, and the kitchen brought out snacks. The person sets this giant platter of chocolate wafers in front of Matt because there was almost no room on the rest of the table. We're all very busy talking. We finish our discussion, and I look around at the snacks, only to watch Matt absentmindedly eat the last wafer on the platter."

There's some laughter from the crowd, but Meg has already moved on in thought, busy thinking about what was really the funniest.

" _Meg, someone is here to see you. Something about an emergency?"_

 _The people in the room looked up at the two people standing in the doorway. One was a stagehand, the other Jack._

 _Up to that point, none of the people from her film life had ever met someone from her outside life. There were many curious glances._

" _Is that your boyfriend, Meg?" Ben asked curiously._

 _Meg spluttered._

" _My… boyfriend? Good heavens no. He's got a butt chin."_

 _As a second thought, she added on,_

" _He's also my brother. He's visiting from America."_

 _Ben's teasing smile turned embarrassed._

" _Oh, I'm sorry."_

" _No, no. Easy mistake. This is Jack."_

 _Jack smiled flirtatiously._

" _Hello."_

 _Meg rolled her eyes._

" _On second thought, I'm not introducing him. He'll just flirt."_

 _She grabbed her bag, and ran out of the room, leaving the confused people to themselves._

 _Jack's flirtatious smile turned into a frown as they get into the Torchwood vehicle. Meg glared._

" _Don't ask. Brother was the first thing I could come up with." He didn't._

" _Butt chin?"_

 _Meg mock punched him in the arm._

" _Oh shut up, you."_

"I have only one last question, on behalf of the entire Sherlock fandom. Do you have any spoilers for season four?"

Meg smirked at Nate, though inwardly, she let out a loud groan.

"Plenty."

The crowd waited with baited breath. Meg could only imagine what they'd theorise, the craziest thing based off five little words that could mean almost anything. Unfortunately for them, Meg didn't actually have any spoilers.

"But you won't hear any from me today."

The crowd's faces switched from hopeful, to crushed. Meg's smirk only grew.

Nate sighed.

"I was expecting something a little more fun than that. Oh well. I suppose it can't be helped, especially this close to the finish of season three. Alright. Ladies and gentlemen, this was Meghan Carter, screenwriter, director and creator of Sherlock!"

Meg made her exit, smiling and waving.

It was a bit more complicated than just not sharing any spoilers. Usually by this time, season four would be practically completed in her head, meaning she just had to meet with the team for edits and sprucing up. This time, that wasn't at all true. Meg had not had a single idea for Sherlock season four. Not one. Considering the rate at which she came up with ideas, that was absolutely ridiculous.

Technically, Meg had had an idea. In fact, an entire episode, planned out in her head. From a writing standpoint, it was well written, with plots and ideas. But she could never publish it as actual work. It wouldn't fit in the murder/drama theme that went on in Sherlock. It also had a lot of sentimental value. She really didn't want to share it with the world.

When a writer writes, they can use several different methods for coming up with characters. They can take ideas from written documents, or books. They often get ideas from the people around them. Sometimes, a character like Sherlock is created, entirely from one's imagination, with no connection to anything else in the person's life. That is very rarely done. Beginner writers, such as Meg when she was first writing Sherlock, take character traits from themselves. More advanced writers do it too, but they're cautious, knowing if they add too many character traits from themselves, the character won't be an individual at all, just a copy of them.

When Meg had first written this isolated chapter of Sherlock, she had been taking ninety percent of the character traits from herself, sometimes improving the character to make her a better person. She and that character were so alike, that all she really did was switch the name. Meg didn't want to share this chapter of Sherlock because it was about her.

It was also the one she had shared part of with the Doctor. She connected it to the start of all of this. It felt wrong to share something so personal with the world.

But then again, that chapter felt like it was meant to happen.

Meg had already decided she wasn't sharing that segment with the group, when they presented ideas. She'd have to come up with new material, like she always did. That meant she had very little time to do so. The group meeting was the next day.

"Meg." Meg turned around to find a stagehand staring at her carefully.

"Are you okay?"

She smiled an embarrassed smile.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just deep in thought."

Behind her, she could hear the next interview start, with the producer of Sherlock. She quickly made her way back to her room behind stage, scooping up her personal possessions.

She didn't want to be concerned right now. Meg was about to go meet the fans, those with obsession enough to go to a big meeting about fandoms. They'd pick up on her worried demeanor. Meg put on a smile, trading her thoughts with exactly how wonderful her life actually was. It was one she'd built, with hard work and effort. She left the room, heading for her designated spot. The light in the room went out.

It was a pity Meg didn't know her perfect life wouldn't last.


	3. Blitzer

The commercial plane descended with a screaming _whoosh_ , the volume of the powerful engines only slightly louder than the sound of the city below.

Meg stared out the window as London grew closer, the hundreds of buildings swallowing the plane in a mouth of concrete teeth. She watched the people below expand from miniscule dots, to ants, to dolls, before disappearing from view as the plane neared the runway.

Her single bag jostled her foot, causing Meg to look down. The backpack contained everything she'd need for her short, thirty-six hour trip to London, which meant her phone, snacks, water, a change of clothes, and as always, a sleek, practically brand new laptop. Meg never liked to bring more than the barest of necessities anywhere.

"Please exit the plane single file, one at a time! Thank you for flying Blink Airlines!"

The overly perky flight attendant hung up the mic and backed to the side. People began exiting the plane, Meg becoming one with the crowd. Soon after, she exited the airport, turning on her phone as she walked out into the crowded streets surrounding the airport.

She loved London, the giant sardine can of people living their own, intricate lives. Something about the hum and buzz of the city attracted her, like flies to honey. London had an aura, one of curiousity and a deadly hunger and mystery and wonder. Meg had yet to discover a single reason as to why she loved the city. Maybe it was the thousands of years of history, layer upon layer, one century stacked on top of another. It could have been the danger, hiding in the alleyways, and underground, not striking everyone, but striking anyone. There was also the diversity, thousands of people, each with their own story. Meg loved that part.

Unfortunately, it was more practical for her to be in Cardiff. Not that Cardiff didn't have it's own special features, such as a giant rift in time and space. Meg didn't mind Cardiff, she just preferred London.

" _129 missed calls. 72 new messages",_ the automated voice sang out, yanking Meg out of her thoughts. She stopped short in surprise, only to hear the angry exclamation of people behind her. Meg's legs automatically started moving again, no longer registering the city around her.

Jack. Something was very wrong, something he probably needed her help with. It probably included aliens…

A little smile snuck on her face. She yanked it back into a serious frown. This wasn't something to smile about. Jack was in desperate need of help.

Meg opened up her phone screen, quickly scrolling through the apps. She tapped on one. The phone switched screens, displaying a giant, big red button. She pushed it.

" _Meg online",_ a tinny voice said in her ear. Two seconds later, Meg's face contorted into a cringe at the overload of loud voices screaming unpleasantries at her. It all muddled together, comments from five other Torchwood team members overlapping.

"Shut up. What's the matter?"

Jack spoke up.

"Meg, there is an alien that goes by the name Skovox Blitzer currently in northern London. We've tried contacting U.N.I.T, and the other organisations, but we can't get through. We're currently on our way, about an hour out."

Meg raised her hand for a cab.

"Where?"

"Harringay."

"I'm on my way."

It looked like the unexpected alien attack had just consumed the remainder of her time, meaning she would save the world from aliens, change clothes, and jump in a taxi heading toward the interview location.

"Story of my life," She muttered.

"What was that, miss?" The cabbie questioned.

"Nothing. Thanks for asking."

They entered the chaotic London traffic, slowly, but steadily moving towards the danger: more than anyone realised.

"Stop here." The cab pulled to the side of the silent street. Meg paid, and the car drove back the way it had come. She stared down the road. There were no cars, no people. She felt a surge of adrenalin and smiled. She loved the chase, the thrill, the adventure. How she could go without it for more than a day was beyond her. The feeling of energy surging through her bones, tingling in her blood. The clarity of her mind, mapping everything out in front of her, putting together every single piece of whatever puzzle, in record time, was twice as easy.

Meg stepped forward, only to stop.

Dust.

It was everywhere, a fine, gray soot coating the pavement, the walks, the gutter. A slight breeze picked up, causing her to choke on her breath as the dust coated her throat. It tasted of gunpowder and ash.

She walked forward, securing her ever-present backpack on her back, pulling her Torchwood gun out of one of the pockets. This little devil easily got past airport security.

Everywhere Meg looked, she saw signs of a battle. Burn marks littered the sides of brick houses, doors hung open. How U.N.I.T had failed to notice this was beyond her.

Her earpiece crackled to life.

"Meg." Jack's voice was staticy. She frowned. That wasn't supposed to happen.

"What is it?"

"Something is interfering with communication devices. You're earpiece is going off the map."

"Can you guys at base pick up on it?"

"No. Meg, I want you to wait. Don't go into the deadzone until we arrive."

Meg reached the end of the street. In the distance, she could make out the glint of metal. A loud scream resonated clearly. There was the sound of a loud crash, and it faded back to silence.

"Jack, people are dying over there."

"I know. We'll be there in five minutes."

Meg sighed.

"I'm not waiting."

"Meg, sto-"

It was too late. Meg ran toward the street as fast as she could, gun in hand,

That was a disadvantage of working at Torchwood part time. It meant she didn't always have a team member with her to give her a hand. She knew it was careless to just jump into things like this, but Meg found herself preferring to save others lives instead of her own. She had been selfish before with her own life, and the cost had been more than she could bear.

Distant screams came from ahead. Meg ran down the middle of the road, dodging the increasing amount of stopped cars. The Skovox Blitzer was climbing over a Honda, with a mother and son inside, both who were sobbing uncontrollably.

The Blitzer thing was like the mythological griffin, except metal and with a death ray. It had green glowing eyes and an eerie robot voice. They had encountered one similar a few years back, but they still didn't know much about it. Meg knew enough, however, to know how dangerous the thing could be.

The monster continued to make a path, destroying the automobiles in its way. Taking a deep breath, Meg jumped almost right in front of the creature.

"Hello there! This is Torchwood official number two-oh-two, representative of planet Earth. State your species name, your home planet and time period, and your intention." She inwardly flinched. _Oh, that was too peppy._

The creature ignored her, instead, scanning her.

"Target acquired. Problem solution: destroy."

" One day that's actually going to work. Okay, plan B!"

Meg dove out of the way as a white flash of light hit the spot she'd been standing in. The screams of the pedestrians doubled as the robot griffin marched forward.

"Problem solution: destroy. Problem solution: destroy."

She had to get the thing out of here. She couldn't shoot for fear of hitting the people running around, fleeing.

 _I need to clear the area._

Meg took a deep breath.

"Okay, people. I need you to evacuate this street. I repeat, evacuate this street."

Her tone may have been authoritative and confident, but she doubted people would listen. They were all paralyzed.

Meg looked around. She saw a man holding a gun, crawling on his hands and knees under and around cars, towards the robot. Ah, somebody that could help. She dodged another blast from the robot's death ray, then grabbed him by the shoulder. He was a tall, young man, with a military look about him.

"Sir, you need to get people out of here. I'm going to distract the robot, okay?"

He took in her tensed posture, authoritative voice, and gun, then nodded. Meg didn't look back. She leaped in front of the alien.

"Hey stupid, follow me!"

She hit the alien with the butt of her gun. A metal clang rang through the square. The creature stopped, then slowly turned around.

"Target acquired. Destroy. Destroy. Destroy. Destroy."

Meg scrambled backwards as shots flew around her head.

"Destroy. Destroy. Destroy."

She noted with relief that the young man was successfully steering people through an alleyway, in a more organised manner than the original panicked fleeing. The street was almost completely cleared, save the young man with the pistol. He was watching her with alarm. Meg sent him a thankful smile, as she dodged more blasts.

"Just go!"

He hesitated.

"That's an order, sir!"

The young man ran off. Meg turned to face the monster, which was almost upon her.

"Target will be in shooting range in eleven meters. Destroy. Destroy. Destroy."

She shot at it. The blast bounced off the metal, hitting a nearby wall. With a grimace, Meg backed up and switched to lethal. It may have been here for an unidentified reason, but her first job was protecting Earth, not sparing killer mythological robots.

Her phone vibrated. Meg dodged another blast, then picked it up, sparing it a quick glance. Harkness. Her voice was strained when she answered.

"I'm somewhat busy."

"You're welcome for getting through the Blitzer's highly advanced communication marring device in order to help your sorry little backside," Jack replied snarkily.

"Thanks. Now I have a squeaky little voice yelling at me through a primitive device. Why aren't you using the earpiece?" She made no effort to hide the sarcasm and annoyance in her tone. Meg may be good at multitasking, but she could only do so many things at once.

Jack ignored the question.

"Once it locks onto you," he told her insistently, "it will stop at nothing to destroy you."

"Destroy. Destroy. Destroy," the monster repeated, as if confirming his point.

Meg felt a burning sensation as the gun in her hands was obliterated. Great. Now she didn't have a weapon.

"Look, I appreciate the tips and all," she said into the phone, "but why don't you get your backside over here and actually _help?"_

"I'll be right there. Just distract it."

Meg groaned. Jack was about to say something else, but she turned off the phone and tucked it in her backpack.

"Destroy. Destroy. Destroy."

She began to run, zigzagging around the few remaining cars that the Skovox Blitzer hadn't destroyed. She paused to take her breath, sheltering behind a minivan. The Blitzer began scanning.

There was a whimper, coming from the car. She froze. It was a child. A small toddler, strapped in a car seat, in the back of the car. Who, with any bit of humanity, would leave their child _alone_?

Meg realised with no small amount of guilt that the child's parents had probably died earlier. This changed everything. People had died because Meg hadn't stopped the monster in time. The least she could do was save the child.

Jack ran into the street, holding two guns. Bless him. Just in time.

Meg stuck her head into the car and unbuckled the child, who stared back at her with big, blue eyes. Meg clutched her close to her chest, shielding her from the Skovox Blitzer.

The monster had found them. Meg had stopped referring to it as alien the second she heard the child. It was a monster now and would feel Meg's vengeance.

"Destroy. Destroy. Destroy."

She dodged the blasts, running towards Jack.

"Get the girl! Get the girl!"

Jack's eyes widened when he saw the child. Before he could process what was happening, the baby had been thrust into his hands, replacing the Torchwood guns. Meg turned both on lethal, and ran towards the Blitzer.

"Get her to safety, Jack."

She moved quickly, hoping Harkness would comply, ignoring the pain flaring in her chest and her ragged breath. The Skovox Blitzer followed, still screeching it's battle cry.

Meg knew it was very stupid to be the one destroying the Blitzer. Jack probably knew plenty more about the monster's weaknesses. He'd be _very_ irritated that she'd not only disobeyed orders once, but twice. But Meg felt like she owed it to the ones who had died. Jack had plenty of choices to provide justice to those who had died suddenly, in fear, and without help. Some little voice inside of her, the unsensible, dramatic, easily provoked one, demanded she do something about it.

Then again, there was also the whole immortal thing. She remembered the time she'd figured that out.

" _You can't just jump off a building."_

" _Or can I?"_

" _No you won't. You won't survive. Nobody could."_

 _Oh, the smug look on his face when he mentioned the whole-_

A blast destroyed the vehicle Meg had taken shelter behind. She took off running for an alleyway.

 _Right,_ she reminded herself sternly, _don't get distracted while fighting killer robots._

The Skovox Blitzer appeared in the face of the alleyway. Its red eyes gleamed menacingly as it grew closer. It wouldn't miss this shot.

The rough texture of a brick wall met her back. Meg's stomach dropped as she realised: there was no way out.

The metal beast grew closer. Meg backed away, gaze unwavering. The silence was deafening in a way it had never been before, each moment like an eternity.

"Destroy. Destroy. Destroy." The Blitzer was within range.

Time seemed to slow down, the bolt moving at what felt like a snail's pace. Jack appeared in the alleyway, hands clenched tightly, a stormy look on his face. It transformed into one of horror. At the same time, Meg felt a blistering heat behind her, as the at one moment solid wall transformed into a vacuum. She saw a golden light wrap around her body as her feet lifted off the ground.

The blast, which was inches from her face, split into a fireworks of sparks. The alleyway, with Jack's face in the distance, faded away. Meg watched the Blitzer jump in with an angry snarl, only for him to disappear down another… tunnel? The golden light had formed some type of writhing, flowing tunnel, with branches to the side.

Whether it was an eternity, or a split second, Meg would never know. It felt like both. It ended when a loud _crack_ split her ears and reverberated her very atoms. Everything turned white. Then she was falling, falling, falling…

 _Smack._


	4. Confusion

The Doctor peered out of the TARDIS, glancing onto the quiet city street with a suspicious frown. His attack eyebrows were bent downwards, watery blue eyes pulling in everything. Quiet and city were never in the same sentence unless something was wrong.

He had set the TARDIS on random, in hopes that she would set him down some place interesting, where he could test the new sonic. It appeared that once again, Earth had managed to get itself in some type of danger, if the alien blaster marks littering the street were any hint. He stepped out of his blue box cautiously, brand new sonic poised.

"Is anybody there?" The Doctor's voice echoed against the tall buildings. He waited, listening for an answer. The only reply he got was the very distant sound of a car horn.

"Hello?"

There was no answer.

"Look, I promise I won't hurt you. Just come out."

He cautiously began to explore, muscles tensed, senses on high alert. A few steps disturbed the dust beneath his feet. It covered his boots, turning them a light gray. His frown deepened. The Doctor was well acquainted with the effects of a high energy blast. Whatever alien had done this better have a good explanation for it.

There. He paused. Something was niggling his time sense, a feeling very few aliens could give. His inner compass pulled him towards an alley, right down the street...

The Doctor blinked rapidly as a pounding headache started behind his eyes, one that he had come to associate with a certain immortal. He spotted him almost immediately, in the face of an alleyway, five other people surrounding him.

"Well if it isn't Captain Jack Harkness," The Doctor drawled, Scottish accent overwhelmingly Scottish. He approached the group.

"Look at that. You've got a team! Hello team! He probably hasn't mentioned me. I'm the Do-"

He was cut off by the six serious faces turning to him, grief and anger written in their expressions. Jack stepped forward, his face that of a man that has lost everything time and time again, and can't do a thing about it. Desperation, fury, and hopelessness. The Doctor inwardly sighed. This was going to be a long day.

"Hello Doctor," Jack said with a snarl. "You, are _late_."

When Meg awoke, it was like trying to pull herself through a mountain of jello. Every thought was sluggish and every memory was slow to come to the surface. She blinked groggily at the bright lights above her head, her eyelids doing little to stop the fluorescent light from blinding her.

 _Where am I?_

Meg had been about to die. There had been a high energy blast moving towards her face at light speed. She was supposed to be dead.

Unless heaven looked like a futuristic hospital room, she wasn't dead.

"Hello."

Her eyes directed towards the source of the voice. No, she most certainly wasn't in heaven. Jack grinned at her with his usual charm, some strange alien scanner in his hand.

"What happened?" Meg managed to croak.

"I don't know. Found you in a prison cell in the twenty first century. According to my computer, you're a bit unusual and have traveled quite a distance. I thought I'd give you a lift."

"...Okay."

She struggled to process his words, their meaning sinking in slowly.

"What do you mean I'm a bit unusual?"

"You're covered in void matter. You recently came from a parallel universe."

 _Parallel universe? Then why am I talking to Jack?_

"If I'm in a parallel universe, then who are you?"

"Captain Jack Harkness. Hello!"

It was a flirt.

"One and the same," Meg muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

That was too strange to be true. She'd fallen into a parallel universe and was rescued by Jack Harkness? The chances of that were impossibly slim. Also, why was she in a parallel universe? Jack had given her brief knowledge on the topic at one point, explaining it was almost impossible to get into them and even more impossible to get out. She knew they were created when a person made a life-changing choice, one that reset the entire course of history. A strange type of energy was created from that choice, one that channeled itself into a new universe. That universe would be the exact same, up until the point where the choice was made. It would take its own path from there, the path the other choice led to.

If this was a parallel universe, then Jack might know who Meg was.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No. But I would love to know."

Okay then. He'd never met her. She didn't allow him to flirt with her. Maybe Jack not meeting her was the point where the two universes split? Or it could be earlier. Meg didn't know much about Jack's life before Torchwood, but she knew the Doctor had made a major impact, having something to do with Jack's immortality.

"How about the Doctor? Do you know who the Doctor is?"

That name only earned her strange glances.

A Jack before the Doctor? A Jack that had never met the Doctor? There would be a lot of changes. Not only would he not be immortal, his personality would be different. Before he met the Doctor, Jack, in his words, had been "less than pleasant". Meg wasn't sure what exactly he meant, but knowing his already low moral standards, it wouldn't be good.

Then why had he rescued her? It wouldn't be for some selfless reason, his kind act of the day. Rescuing her from the cell he'd briefly mentioned would be supporting him.

Also, why was she in a cell in the first place? Maybe she had a double here that was some kind of mastermind criminal?

There were too many questions. Was Jack telling the truth, or was this some Jack before the Doctor, from her own universe? If so, why hadn't Meg's Jack mentioned this to her? How had she arrived in a parallel universe in the first place?

With a groan, Meg sat up, her arms wobbly under the weight of her body. The room around her was small; there was barely enough space for the tiny cot, the cabinets, and parallel Jack's chair. The colour theme was white, though that seemed to be normal for any clinic, hospital, or medbay, future and twenty first century alike.

Parallel Jack's apparel was only slightly different from the outfit she was used to. His coat was a dark blue, and he wore some type of captain's hat on his head. His expression, however, was absolutely alien. It was boyish, mischievous, and _young._ The Jack she knew had a hardened look in his eyes, one that came with loss and experience. The parallel Jack still had an emotion she had never seen in the Jack she knew. Hope.

Yet the anger that accompanied the original Jack already was obvious. It saddened her to see how young he was. He couldn't be more than thirty, yet he was filled with a bitterness that accompanied him far into his future, the future she knew.

Jack spoke up, interrupting her sentimental thoughts. "So, how did you do it?"

Meg blinked, confused.

"How did I do what?"

"Enter another universe," he clarified. "I'd be interested to know why the Time Agency is experimenting with that type of technology."

"You think I'm with the Time Agency?" was her incredulous answer.

"Sure. You're covered with void particles and have on you technology only the Time Agency is capable of making. That or you're some rebel with excellent hiding skills. Not everyone can steal a bunch of technology from the Time Agency, experiment with multi-versal travel, and get away with it."

Meg stuttered, unable to fully process the ridiculousness in his statement. The Time Agency was a giant organisation full of people more corrupt than some American politicians. They were 'selfish, back-stabbing, money-thirsty pirates'. Jack's words, again. Calling her a Time Agent was a major insult to her ego.

She finally managed a coherent response.

"If you think I'm associated with the Time Agency, then why did you bother springing me from a twenty-first century jail cell? You hate the Time Agency."

"You know that how?"

Words once again evaded her. How was she supposed to explain the whole "I know your parallel counterpart and he's immortal and we save Cardiff from aliens" thing? It would sound ridiculous. It was ridiculous. Jack would never believe her, not in a million years.

Jack had assumed she knew who he was. Even though she'd asked for his name, she hadn't bothered to disguise it. There was probably some type of warrant out for Jack's arrest. He'd stolen technology and run off.

"I'm the second one, actually."

He looked at her with increased interest.

"No, really?"

"Yep. I joined it in the future, a bit after your time. There are still whispers about you running off, though."

"Ah. The rumours. You followed in my tracks, eh?"

Meg's mind was working at the speed of light, searching for every tiny bit of information she knew about past Jack. He'd been a con-man, after leaving the Time Agency. He'd met the Doctor, thinking he was a Time Agent, and he'd tried to rip him off. He hated the Time Agency for what they'd done to him, though their wrongs seemed insignificant after all he'd gone through over the centuries.

If he was a con-man, he probably would be open to receiving information that would harm the Time Agency. Jack had also shown interest in her supposed ability to travel from universe to universe. Maybe she could bribe him with that, get him to take her back home.

 _Parallel universes are impossible to get into and even more impossible to leave._

When Jack first explained the idea to her, he'd done it with a faraway look in his eyes, a sad little smile on his face. Meg had gotten the impression he was remembering something, one of those "I'm immortal and have infinite amounts of memories that I try to not think about" things. At the time, it had just been another fact to add to her bucket of information about alien things. She'd never imagined that particular piece coming to any use. It was fortunate Jack had prepared her with at least a little data on the subject. Meg knew what to expect, even if it was a little vague. Should she be unable to return to her home universe, she'd find a comfortable place in this universe, somewhere with a familiar face, somewhere...

Now that Meg thought about it, she realised she had no idea where she would go. She was in a parallel universe, where nobody knew her and she didn't exist. She wasn't sure if she could go back home. Even if she did find a familiar face, they wouldn't know anything about her. Nobody here knew anything about her.

Meg was alone.

The thought horrified her. Alone was not in her nature. Alone was worse than any torture Meg could receive. It was a threat that lingered in the back of her mind, propelled her to do everything in her power from being alone. She'd been alone once before, and she had sworn to herself she would do everything in her power to keep from being alone again.

That meant she would have to do the impossible. Meg would have to find a way back into her universe. Fortunately for her, fate seemed to be on her side. She had a time traveling best friend con man that had no idea who she was, just waiting to be conned into helping her succeed.

The plan formed in Meg's mind was hastily made, but it might just work. She would bribe Jack into taking her back to the scene, hopefully convince him to help her figure out how she got into this universe in the first place, and make it back home.

Details would be worked out as she went along, of course. Meg was well known for her procrastination.

Said person coughed, bringing her back to reality. Meg gave a winning smile.

"Yes and no, though I do prefer to add my own spice to things."

She leaned forward, ignoring the protest of her weakened muscles. It worried her that they were in the condition they were in. She'd felt the feeling before. It was caused when she broke a bone, and hadn't moved it for at least a month. It meant she'd been unconscious for a while. Anything could have happened. Usually, it took several weeks of physical therapy to get it back in shape, something Meg didn't have time for right now.

"I have a proposition."

"Oh?"

"You take me back to the location where I originally appeared, help me find the technology I stole from the Time Agency, and I will give you all the blueprints on this technology, which you may use however you wish."

"Mmm. No."

Meg inwardly groaned at Jack's answer. This complicated things.

"Why not?" She asked.

"It's too good to be true. Besides, the only alien tech you had on you when you arrived was that very fancy ear-piece. Custom made, according to my scanner. When did you get it? Twenty-sixth century? A bit old, for a Time Agent."

 _Note to self: Never try to con the con-man._ Jack had told her more than once she was a terrible liar.

 _Why do I always have to complicate things for myself? The truth_ was _probably believable enough._

"The question is, who are you?"

"Maybe I'm a twenty-first century girl from a parallel universe," Meg grumbled.

"Ah. In that case, we're done here. I'll send you back to your time, and you can adjust."

She stared at him in disbelief.

"What? No offers to help? No curious questions about how I knew you in the first place? Or how I ended up in a parallel universe? No attempts at flirting?"

"Sorry kiddo. You're not my type."

That had to be the worst insult ever to have left Jack's mouth. _Everything_ was his type.

Jack reached for the door handle, grinning. Meg realised she had to stop him.

Fine. She would do this the hard way.

With a yell, she leapt in his direction, her hand closing around a familiar black item, sitting on a shelf next to Jack. The shelf crashed over, sending medical supplies to the ground with a loud bang. Parallel Jack reacted immediately, diving in her direction. Meg fell to the ground, the sharp edges of the shelf digging into her ribs.

Meg had noticed the device on the shelf the second she'd come to. At one point, her Jack had shown her one identical to it, attempting to convince her he was indeed a time traveler. He'd called it a vortex manipulator. She hadn't believed him, but she had gotten a good look at the complicated buttons covering the surface. Meg had a general idea on what they did. Hopefully it would get her out of here.

She pulled herself up, limbs shaking. Jack saw what she had in her hand. He jumped to his feet, pulling a gun out a gun. With a surge of adrenaline, Meg bumped open the door with her head and slid the manipulator across the floor into the hallway. She desperately crawled after it, slamming the door behind her. Sighing, her head fell back against the cold, metal surface, rather surprised that had worked.

It was hard to catch Jack by surprise. No matter the situation, he'd always been prepared to fight. Meg had seen it time and time again, as aliens planning your death didn't usually announce themselves.

 _Maybe his reactions just aren't as good in his younger age?_

"Computer! Emergency protocols. There is an intruder in the ship! There is an intruder in the ship!"

Meg strapped the device on her wrist and stared at the buttons. There seemed to be two sections, a manual, and automatic. The automatic was set for Jack, his precise weight, height, speed preferences, and saved locations shown in tiny digit figures on one side of the device. The other side was full of complicated coordinates, personal information settings, and safety checks.

She didn't have time for the manual. Holding her breath, Meg pressed a few buttons, preparing the device to send her back to the device's last location. At the same time, Jack blasted a square hole in the wall next to her, his expression furious. She took one look at the giant gun in his hand, and pressed launch.

The following sensations were even worse than the travel through the golden tunnel. Meg felt a gut-wrenching feeling, before everything around her turned white. Her body was sent hurtling at painful speeds through the blinding whiteness, tearing at her skin, and reverberating through her very atoms. She couldn't move anything, not even the muscles required to breathe. Then it was all over. Solid ground returned under Meg's feet. She fell to the ground, gasping, her suddenly darkened settings swaying around her. Leaning over, her stomach emptied itself of its contents, the nausea too much for it to take.

All Meg could hear was a ringing in her ears, dark spots spinning in front of her eyes. Time passed, though she was unaware of how much. Her head was spinning, both from the torture her body had just endured, and the events that had taken place in just minutes.

After what felt like eternity, the spots cleared and the ringing faded. Meg studied the room. There was a red, faded carpet under her knees, now marred by her sick. A chair sat to her left, torn slightly on one edge. The window above her head leaked a little gray light through the closed curtains, shadows more prominent because of it.

Her lips twisted into a frown. The scene seemed awfully familiar, though she couldn't place it from her position on the floor. Carefully, she struggled to her feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness that accompanied the motion.

There was another person in the room.

Meg tensed. She was in no condition to fight off any scared civilian, nor did she feel like being questioned. The figure was seated, a humanoid shadow reflecting off the other chair.

"Hello?"

Her voice sounded helpless and tiny.

The person behind her did not respond. Cautiously, Meg turned around.

Every thought process ground to a halt. Her brain had reached its maximum limit of questions, and it would take no more.

There, in front of her, sat a face she was well acquainted with, wearing clothes and sitting in a room that were very deeply imbedded in the fiction section of reality. It was impossible, more impossible than a parallel universe and a parallel Jack happening upon her out of all of time and space.

"Ben?" Meg asked tentatively.

The figure's carefully blank features bended into a smirk, hands clasping under his chin.

"No."

It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. Not in a parallel universe, not even possible in a dream. Dreading the answer to her question, Meg forced it through her lips. "Sherlock?"

If possible, the smirk grew even wider, consuming his face, lighting up his eyes with curiosity and wonder.

"Yes?"


	5. Desperation

**A/N: Okay, next chapter, the action begins. Did Lizzie Borden take the ax?**

 **Just a heads-up, I'm planning on doing some edits to chapter one and two. I'm not sure when this will happen, but some things will be changed. Just to clear things up, Tori from chapter one is Meg, and no longer will Meg write that scene. It will happen at the very beginning as a prologue.**

 **Thank you to all of the guests who have reviewed! I would love to see some favourites and follows, or at least a review telling me why you're not:) Also a big thank you to my amazing beta, Forever the Optimist. Go read her stuff!**

It was indeed Sherlock who smirked at Meg, radiating a smug and arrogant aura. His eyes, however, told a slightly different story. They were filled to the brim with curiosity. She could almost see the gears turning, synapses in his mind firing from one place to another at a stunning speed. He was deducting her, attempting to figure out the enigma that had literally landed right in front of his nose.

Meg's own synapses seemed to have shorted out. She stared dumbly at him, jaw dropped to the floor. It was awkwardly silent, though Meg was in no state to amend that and Sherlock, with his sociopathic tendencies, certainly didn't care.

A car horn sounded from outside. Meg was startled out of her stupor, shutting her mouth as she straightened, wrinkling her nose at the wafting smell of bile. Sherlock took a sudden breath, probably the first one in several minutes. He sometimes got so focused, he forgot to breathe.

"Yes."

Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'll take the case."

With that, he gracefully jumped out of his chair, navigating through the maze of furniture into the cluttered kitchen.

Meg blankly stared in the direction she'd gone, wrestling with her thoughts.

... _how? I don't think fictional characters are supposed to exist, even in parallel universes,_ she thought.

They couldn't exist because it was impossible. Just because parallel universes were slightly different didn't mean fiction became reality. The science behind it just didn't work.

 _Or maybe this universe's slight difference caused fictional characters to become reality? It's possible, but unlikely._

Also, how had she arrived in a parallel universe in the first place? What would be the consequences?

Then there was that tiny little matter called Sherlock. He seemed to think she would be staying, and he would be solving all the enigmas suddenly tied to her once clear, and straightforward life. Meg didn't exactly know what to make of him.

She understood him, as an author understands their characters. She knew how he would react to certain situations, what had happened in his past, and had at least an inkling of what went on in that genius brain of his. Meg had, over the years, come to know his character well enough, that at times she thought of him as an actual person. It was a side effect of years of focus on one story.

Would this Sherlock be the same as the Sherlock in her writing? She wasn't sure, but his reactions thus far would have been the reactions she expected. Only time would tell if this was the same Sherlock.

If it was, did she even want to stay? To her, he was rude and obnoxious, but had that streak of genius that, in different circumstances, would have had Meg ecstatic to watch him work. Seeing Ben pretending to study a pretend dead body, after memorising a script she had written was not the same. But she couldn't get distracted. If, there was even the slimmest chance of finding her way back to her universe, Meg had to find it as soon as possible. Also, staying could result in Mycroft finding her...

Meg shivered at the thought. She loved Mycroft's character, the only person with a mind bigger than Sherlock's. But she loved it from a distance, like admiring a ferocious predator from a far off location, with a nice, safe wall in between. Mycroft was dangerous.

Why did Ben from her universe and Sherlock look the exact same? That one made no sense at all to Meg's brain. Sherlock and Ben's family situations were quite different, even if, supposedly, their parents looked the same. Also, Liam, the actor who played Mycroft, was in no way related to Ben.

There were too many questions surrounding Sherlock, so many that Meg could make nothing of him. The confusion was enough to make her mind shut down from sheer pressure.

 _If only Jack was here._

Jack would know what to do. He'd probably annoy Sherlock to no end with his constant flirting, die a few times, and figure it all out in the end. Jack would tell her to stop staring at the problem and start fixing it.

Only, Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood member, immortal, wasn't here. He was in another universe, unavailable. Everything Meg knew was in another universe, unavailable.

The implications of what that meant, had only started to sink in. Yet she already felt like she was drowning, cut off from everything important to her.

Sherlock reappeared in the corner of Meg's vision, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Are you coming?"

"I-"

What was she supposed to do? Follow him? Like this? With so many questions demanding to be answered, that she could barely comprehend what was going on around her? When her mind was only beginning to process exactly what being in a parallel universe meant for her?

At that moment, another familiar person appeared at the top of the staircase, a cheerful smile on her face.

"Hello, Sherlock. Who's this? I'm sorry dear. I didn't hear you come in. What's your name?"

Meg stared at her with confusion, Mrs. Hudson's words sounding distant.

Had the entire world gone mad? Had she gone mad? Everything was crumbling around her. In a second, Meg's plans, her dreams, her life had all crumbled to dust. Her surroundings were spinning all of a sudden. She put a hand out on a piece of furniture to steady herself.

"I-"

A little frown appeared on Mrs. Hudson's face.

"Are you alright? You've gone quite pale, all of a sudden."

She took a step closer to Meg. Mrs. Hudson's hand went up to her nose as the still lingering scent of the sick hit her in the face.

"Oh you poor dear. You're ill."

Meg barely registered any of what went on, the features of the room blurring together like clothing in a washing machine. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, leading her.

"Sherlock, what were you thinking, not offering her any help. She's hardly any use to you like this, barely able to stand upright."

"Yes, hardly any use at all. Send her back up when her _emotions_ aren't so heavily inflicting her thoughts."

"I doubt she would want to come back up, the way you're acting. Be more considerate, Sherlock. Watch your step, dear," she added kindly.

Her legs moved mechanically down the steps, their voices a drone in the distance. Meg stumbled, but an arm quickly steadied her.

Faces, images, memories spun through her mind at a dizzying speed, each one only widening the gaping mouth of alone swallowing her whole.

 _The first time she'd arrived in the strange new world called London, hundreds of people milling around her, that overwhelming sensation of success at finally being there, after hours of hard work, in another country, among people from a different country._

 _Meeting Jack, the sliver of hope that accompanied it, and once again, the delectable, addictive feeling of success at finally finding a link to the strange man with the blue box._

 _A team slowly forming, a team under the name Torchwood, one that saved Cardiff and the world from aliens on daily basis. A team Meg was a part of._

 _That seemingly innocent email, informing her she had a contract with the BBC, and her script Sherlock was going to be filmed. An overwhelming pride, realising these characters of her creation had caught the interest of the biggest broadcasting station on the planet._

Gone. All of it was gone. Her world, her work, her entire universe was gone. Gone to her. How was she supposed to cope? How was she supposed to succeed, when the price of failing pressed down on her chest, a constant, overwhelming shadow, ready to crush her in a second?

"Gone," Meg murmured faintly, unaware the word had even passed through her lips. "Alone."

Mrs. Hudson tutted, pushing open a door, leading Meg into a homely kitchen, and guiding her over to a sofa.

"It'll be alright, dearie. You'll see. It'll be alright. Let me just pop over to the kitchen and start the kettle. You need a good cuppa tea."

Meg closed her eyes, exhausted, her mind worn out, her body weak from the vortex manipulator, and whatever other strains it had endured before. She was asleep before Mrs. Hudson even left the room.

A little ray of sunlight hit her directly in the face, causing her to screw her eyes shut in a futile attempt to block it out. The light persisted. With a sigh, Meg stretched, attempting to undo the knot the sofa's armrest had put in her back. Her eyes sprung open.

The sofa. Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock.

Memories came tumbling back. She had been waking up like this a lot lately. Groaning, Meg attempted to force the many looming issues out of her mind. Now was not the time to deal with all her emotional problems and what-ifs. She needed to focus on finding a way back to her home universe. It was what Jack would demand her to do, if he was here.

Meg placed her two feet on the ground and stood up. Her legs practically gave way underneath her. Only after did she remember the weakened state of her body, due to a still unknown time of being unconscious.

 _Okay then. Tea first._

She faintly remembered something about a kettle being put on the stove…

Ahah. There it was. Her trembling hand reached out to pick up the mug, bringing it cautiously to her lips.

It was lukewarm, but still surprisingly good, the result of a practiced hand allowing leaves to steep the right amount of time. Meg enjoyed it thoroughly, more than she usually enjoyed the drink. Her American background had left coffee as the traditional caffeine supplement, and it had remained that way even after her several years spent in the U.K.

Tea was a part of England she'd observed, but never one Meg had ever been a part of. Many of her colleagues had spoken fondly of childhood memories involving rough days accompanied by comforting cups of tea. In this particular aspect, Meg had been an outsider, not one of them. It had always been that way, really. Something was always so drastically different about her, from the other people around her. Back then, it had been her American background, one of the only Americans working for the British Broadcasting Channel.

Now, her background came from a different universe, a universe that she had a high chance of never seeing again…

That line of thought was aborted.

When the cup was drained, Meg set it back down and began to study her surroundings.

She was in a well furnished room, with older, mismatched furniture, and stacks of books and magazines placed in ideal locations. The only light came from the large window, last signs of a rare sunbeam fading. There were two doorways, one leading into a cheery kitchen, and the other into a hallway. It was an oddly peaceful scene.

It was indeed Mrs. Hudson's little flat, exactly as Meg had pictured it in her mind.

The woman herself was nowhere to be seen, though there was the distant sound of a vacuum, coming from the hallway, behind one of the closed doors.

 _I need a plan. Hopefully something a little more stable than the 'con the conman' one…_

Meg winced at the memory. She was really bad at making plans in the space of a few seconds. Plans in general, really, were not her _forte._ That was left to other members of the team, such as Jack.

At that moment, the distant sound of the vacuum stopped, and the squeak of old hinges replaced it. Mrs. Hudson walked through the hall, letting the door slide close behind her. Meg watched her disappear into another room.

The sweet, older landlady had a long and interesting history. Her life before Baker Street had been difficult, due to the woman's own choices. The choices, and the circumstances surrounding her had turned her into the woman she was today.

 _Our circumstances form the clay that we are made of, and our choices shape that clay into what we are today._

She'd experienced it multiple times, the way her choices had affected her entire future, choices such as deciding to help create Torchwood, and sending in the script for Sherlock. Those choices had made her who she was at that moment, and those choices were the reason she was in this strange situation at all.

The choices Meg would have to make now would impact her, impact everything. This strange, twilight zone place she found herself in was going to present her with choices, and circumstances like she had never experienced before. The choices Meg made here, and now, would change her. After all of this, whatever had happened, was over, she would be different. The clay would be twisted and patted into an entirely new formation. Just how different would she be?

A door opened again, and Mrs. Hudson stepped through, carrying a bundle of clothes. She smiled at Meg.

"I thought you might be up. How are you feeling?"

Meg pushed away her thoughts. She really needed to stop getting all philosophical about everything. It certainly wouldn't be good to tarnish her reputation as an 'act before you think' kind of a person.

"A lot better, thank you," she said politely.

"Good. I've got some clothes here. They may be a bit big, but you'll manage. The shower is down the hall."

She pointed in the general direction.

Meg glanced down at what she was wearing and cringed. She'd put the clothes on before the Skovox Blitzer incident and it showed, through sight and smell. Ew.

"Yeah, a shower sounds wonderful."

Mrs. Hudson passed her the clothes, a blouse and thick blue jeans. They certainly weren't the height of style, but they were better than what she had on.

"It's the least I can do after Sherlock. He has no manners, that boy. But he can be kind, in his own way."

An absent minded murmur of agreement came from Meg. She half heard Mrs. Hudson's words, but was more focused on keeping the waves of nausea at bay as she stood up. Were she not worried about being indefinitely stuck in a universe not hers, Meg would have stayed put as long as possible. Standing up made the room feel like spinning teacups at an amusement park.

"Are you sure you're better? You're face has gone pale."

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine," Meg said with a wave of her hand, forcing what was supposed to be a comforting smile on her face. The increased worry-lines engraved in Mrs. Hudson's features suggested otherwise. She inwardly threw up her hands.

 _Ah, I tried._

"If you say so. Don't push yourself too far, now. It won't help whatever case you've got Sherlock so excited about. I haven't seen him so energized since a serial killer back in April."

Meg inwardly flinched. Dealing with an overexcited Sherlock would be like dealing with a know it all toddler hyped up on candy and coffee. She'd written down plenty of scenes just like it and could envision what would happen clearly in her mind. No, Meg had never been a babysitter as a child, and there was a good reason for it. Patience was a virtue, and a wonderful one at that, but not hers. Sherlock viewing her curiosity-sparking situation as his next case would end in an arguement five minutes in.

"Umm… I don't think I'm staying. I never really asked him for help and I've got stuff to do."

Mrs. Hudson nodded her head, her tone sympathetic.

"I understand. He was absolutely dreadful earlier. I told him to try being nicer, or he'd lose a case eventually, but Sherlock never listens. Maybe he'll learn his lesson."

 _Not what I said, but that works._

"Okay."

The older woman looked like she was about to start talking again. Meg quickly spoke.

"I'm going to go shower now. I've got to get going soon, unfortunately."

Meg didn't have time for casual conversation.

"Oh, alright dear. Be careful."

With that, Mrs. Hudson left the room. Meg slowly made her way across the room, gripping furniture along the way so hard her fingers turned white. She shut the bathroom door and slid to the floor with a thump.

Everything was so bizarre. If she got back to Torchwood… When she got back to Torchwood, she would have a _lot_ of questions for Jack.

Meg had spent a generous chunk of time in the shower, doing her best to scrub away layers of dirt and grime. She'd discovered three or four new scars. It frightened her to see them on her body- they were only white lines. Meg had been unconscious for a long time, long enough for them to heal.

She also looked awful in what was presumably Mrs. Hudson's clothes, like some homeless person. Meg attempted to ignore the outfit, knowing it was likely she'd be stuck in the clothes for a while. She didn't exactly have any money or identity to go and buy clothes. Or anything else, for that matter. That could cause a problem somewhere in the near future.

Now, Meg was sitting in the kitchen, hungrily devouring a large helping of no-longer-frozen lasagna. Mrs. Hudson was chatting away about trivial things, seated at the other side of the old, wooden table.

"It wasn't a shocker, really when they got married. Everybody saw it coming. The two just belonged together, you know. You could see it, clear as day."

Meg nodded, chewing a mouthful of sauce and noodle.

"Of course, they're young, so who knows how long it will last." Mrs. Hudson sighed. "They should enjoy it while they can, I suppose."

The older woman took another bite of her dinner. There was silence for a few minutes, both focused on their food. Almost half of Meg's plate was gone before Mrs. Hudson spoke again.

"If you don't mind me asking, why were you visiting Sherlock?"

All thoughts of lasagna left Meg's brain.

 _How am I supposed to explain this one?_

Even though Mrs. Hudson certainly didn't show it, she had gathered plenty of skills from her younger years, and was good at hearing what others didn't say. If Meg attempted to lie, the sweet lady would pick up on it immediately. Mrs. Hudson may have never said it outright, but she was protective of her boys. Meg wasn't sure what Mrs. Hudson would do if she thought Meg was trying to hurt Sherlock or John, but the older woman was very clever. She'd find a way.

"...ahh... It's complicated," Meg mumbled.

"I'm sure it is, dear. If Sherlock's involved, it's very complicated."

There was silence again, Mrs. Hudson watching Meg expectantly. She wouldn't let the topic go.

"Um… I'm not sure how to explain it. I didn't mean to end up here. I just… did. I didn't want Sherlock involved. It was entirely an accident."

If the Mrs. Hudson from Meg's writing was anything like this Mrs. Hudson, she was perfectly aware that Meg had left out plenty of details. But the woman didn't push, temporarily satisfied with Meg's answer.

Mrs. Hudson moved onto another topic, and Meg resumed devouring the lasagna. Soon, both plates were in the kitchen sink, and Meg was lacing up her sneakers. As much as she had enjoyed Mrs Hudson's kindness, it was time for her to leave. Whatever was involved with the parallel universe would be complicated, and she would be stumbling into it blind. Meg may have a vortex manipulator, but time still might not be on her side.

"Thank you for everything," Meg said sincerely. "Really, I don't know what I would have done without your help."

Mrs. Hudson smiled kindly. "I enjoyed your company. It can get lonely down here at times."

She passed Meg a jacket.

"It's an old one, one of my favourites, but it doesn't fit anymore," she said with a sigh. "I've gained a bit of a stomach in my old age."

The jacket was baby blue, and looked like it was meant to be paired with a tracksuit. Meg did her best not to grimace as she pulled it over the fancy blouse.

"It's very comfy. I'll return the clothes, if I can."

Chances were, Mrs. Hudson's clothes would get stuck in another universe and would never be returned, but Meg would make at least a bit of an effort.

"Once again, thank you very much." Meg glanced out the window. It was dark. She'd move away from 221 Baker Street before using the manipulator. She didn't want to scare Mrs. Hudson, especially after all she'd done.

"Come visit sometime, if you're in the area."

Meg nodded. "I will."

If everything worked out, she'd never see Mrs. Hudson again. She felt slightly guilty about it, but being stuck here was not preferred. Mrs. Hudson was also safer never seeing her again. Drug cartels and exotic dancing were one thing, but aliens were another.

Mentally, Meg went over a checklist, making sure she had what she'd need.

 _Clothes on back, shoes on feet, vortex manip-_

She froze. The realisation felt like an ice fist had squeezed her heart and all air out of her lungs. The vortex manipulator wasn't there. It's thick strap was not securely wrapped around her wrist, as it had been before she'd fallen asleep on Mrs. Hudson's sofa. Meg glanced around the room, that cold ice hand spreading from her heart, through her lungs. The manipulator wasn't anywhere in the room.

Hopelessness gripped her, the overwhelming sensation that smothers any fragment of encouragement one might have. Meg pushed it away quickly. She wasn't one for letting small things make her give up.

Mrs. Hudson had watched the tidal wave of emotions play across Meg's face. She gave the young woman a worried little frown.

"Are you missing something?"

"Do you know where it is?" Meg hoped she did. Maybe the older lady had removed it because it looked uncomfortable and she was being nice?

 _Actually, she probably slipped it off my wrist and snuck it upstairs for Sherlock._

"Know where what is, dear?"

"Black, buttony, bracelet thing around my wrist?"

The lightbulb seemed to go off in Mrs. Hudson's head.

"Oh, the thing for the case, you mean? Sherlock said he needed it." She had a too-innocent look in her eye.

 _The two schemers. Mycroft could take a hint from his brother: who needs the control of the British nation if you have Mrs. Hudson on your side?_

"Right." Meg did her best to filter her irritation out of her eyes. She'd practically had a heart attack. With a single minded focus, Meg stumbled towards the doorway, her muscles burning at even attempting to stay upright. Sherlock. She'd just met the detective and he was already one of the most annoying people she knew.

 _If he's my character, and I've spent years writing about him, does that mean I've known him for years?_

"Single minded focus, Meg," she muttered to herself. She smiled tightly back towards Mrs. Hudson.

"Thank you."

As she left the flat, and dragged herself up the stairs, her annoyance grew. Meg had some major things to figure out right now, and Sherlock complicating everything because he was bored didn't help. Maybe she'd slap his perfect cheekbones into some new form.

 _I could cut myself slapping that face,_ she thought.

Nearing the top of the steps, she wondered what she would do once she got the device back. Hopefully, there was some type of travel log on the manipulator. Meg could find her original location, and try to find more out about her appearance in the Sherlock universe.

 _The Sherlock universe. A fitting title for now, I suppose._

Meg opened the door, using it for more support than she would admit to herself. 221B was darker than it had been earlier, the only illumination coming from the kitchen. She went in that direction, gripping the furniture with a strength that would've made the Golem proud.

Sherlock sat in a hard wooden chair, staring intently at the mess of science equipment on the table, vortex manipulator laid out right in front of him. He didn't look up as she entered the room, or even acknowledge her presence. Meg glared at his downturned head.

 _If only looks could kill._

"Give it back," Meg demanded.

Sherlock gave an irritating smirk, still not looking up.

"No."

"How about yes?"

"I am curious as to why a person that usually goes through lengths to control her temper would let it go now."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Oh don't start."

He suddenly sprang from his chair, the wood making a hair-raising screech against the tile. The spiel continued.

"I said I'd take the case. I have no intention on letting it go."

"You should. I'm not staying."

"You mean, "Oh, how did you know that, absolute stranger?"" His baritone voice went up an octave, in what was supposed to be an imitation of Meg. Her already angry glare took on a new intensity.

"Will you stop it?"

"No, I don't think I shall, especially for an insecure woman that clings to being social and having _friends._ " Sherlock spat the word, like trying to rid of a sour taste. "You have issues with your family you still haven't resolved, don't have a boyfriend, and are lonely with no way home."

Each deduction felt like a punch in the gut. Meg tensed.

"That's all good and fine. You're no less than the rest of the empty-minded people blundering about this earth. But you're something else entirely, Meghan Carter."

Meg's head snapped to Sherlock's current position in the room.

"How do you know my name?"

Sherlock appeared to have not heard her, lost in a spinning whirlwind of deduction and enigma, logic and fact.

"You're a writer. It's obvious, from the keys on your laptop to the endless amount of writing utensils. You're a good writer too, from the clothes, and the haircut, and everything you own. If you're a good writer, with a lot of money, then why does noone know who you are? Why don't you exist?" The frustration was uncharacteristically clear in his voice.

"Shut up and give me back my vortex manipulator!" Meg yelled, slamming her hand on the wooden table.

He suddenly stopped, all movement coming to a standstill.

"Vortex manipulator. It's time travel!"

Meg immediately regretted her words, eyes widening. _Oops._

That had been a mistake. That had been a big mistake. The last thing Meg needed was Sherlock Holmes demanding to go traipsing around time and space. He would never let her leave now.

Sherlock almost leaped over to the table, hand snatching up the manipulator. His eyes soaked it in greedily.

"Time, date, coordinates, weight, height, sensitivity to motion. The technology and likeliness of occurrence make it almost unbelievable, but when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth!"

Were Meg not still furious at the sleuth and seriously regretting what she'd said, she may have at least inwardly cheered at the quote. But she found the anger and regret creating a strange concoction of despair, despair that the genius in front of her was not Jack, or Ben, or anybody she inwardly considered her family. She needed that vortex manipulator. It was the only plan her mind could hastily come up with, to get back. Without it, Meg would be lost, more lost than now.

Meg realized too late that Sherlock was pressing buttons on the vortex manipulator, staring at the screen with glee.

"No!"

It seemed that Meg had caught him too late. Sherlock had it firmly strapped on his wrist, and was pressing the green 'enter' button. She waited, with bated breath, for the vortex manipulator to disappear.

It didn't. Instead, the device let out five little beeps. The consulting detective glanced down at the device, his gleeful smirk turning into a frustrated frown. He suddenly unstrapped the device and thrust it into Meg's hands. Surprised, she glanced down.

 **Termination of device aborted.**

"...What?" Meg asked, scarcely believing her eyes.

Any strange, twisted version of happiness Sherlock had been feeling had disappeared in a second. He had an almost childish pout on his face. Without another word, he suddenly left the kitchen.

Meg was too stunned to tune herself into the strange frequency Sherlock's mind worked on. Why had he just… given it to her?

Through the doorway, Meg could see him opening a laptop, intense concentration suddenly directed at the device. With utmost relief, Meg strapped the vortex manipulator to her arm. Slightly puzzled, she glanced back towards Sherlock.

 _Why would the device threaten to terminate? It didn't for me. Did he do something to it?_

"Hello? You there?"

The detective didn't even register her existence. It irked her that she couldn't be properly angry at Sherlock. He hadn't even responded to her shouting, too involved in the little enigma he'd found. Not that she really expected him to, now that Meg thought about it. She knew Sherlock wouldn't respond to taunts when there were more interesting matters at hand.

 _I guess it's time to take my leave, then._

Meg was relieved she could get started on figuring her way out of the mess. Quickly, she glanced over the controls. She didn't particularly relish the feeling of her skin being ripped apart and her stomach folding in on itself.

The manipulator allowed her to enter in a new profile of sorts, with her weight, height, and tons of other medical information Meg could only give rough estimations of. She did it quickly, wary of the mutterings coming from the sociopath in the other room. Then she had to choose a location.

There was indeed a log of earlier traveled-to locations, many with strange names. Meg chose one that was at least slightly familiar- labeled Good Bar #28, on Earth, twentieth century.

Meg took a deep breath, finger hovering over the 'enter' button. The last time she'd done this, it had been pure agony, leaving her feeling like shreds of wet newspaper. Logically, now that the vortex manipulator had been set to transport her, it wouldn't hurt.

 _As much,_ she mentally added. But that didn't mean it didn't make it any less hard.

Fearing the slight hesitation had cost her something precious, Meg shoved away her nervousness. She pressed the button.

For the second time that day, the word 'no' was shouted loudly, as reality around her began to bend. This time, it wasn't her mouth that had yelled the word.

Meg felt a strong hand grasp her arm just as the ground disappeared from beneath her feet, and everything turned into a blinding white. One last coherent thought entered her brain, before time travel began to tear her apart.

 _I don't care about his cheekbones. I'm going to slap him._


End file.
